FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 7

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Stan drifted in and out of consciousness. His partially-functioning mind felt like it was pushing through sticky mud. He couldn't find the willpower to fully wake. He was only partially aware that light was streaming through the window of their bedroom. It beckoned him to rise as it illuminated the backsides of his tightly closed eyes.

"Mhmm..." he groaned. He could feel something sliding along his semi-rigid penis, exposing it to the cool air of the room. The hot flesh collapsed over his thigh as he rolled over in place. The darkness won as he faded quickly back into unconsciousness.

The next time he was stirred awake he could hear raised voices and slamming cabinets. His ears weakly rose from atop his head as they instinctually aimed towards the sound. He knew he should understand what was being said but it all sounded like a muddled mess of noise to his sleep-encumbered mind.

He was slowly becoming aware of his body's general discomfort. His back ached and his muscles felt like they were being prodded in all the wrong places. The skin of his sides and back felt constricted in a way he couldn't fully process. He pushed his long face deeper into the pillow as his legs kicked lightly below him to try to find a comfortable position on the bed. None of the discomforts were enough to rouse him as sleep took him again.

"ssttannn....ssstaannn...."

The deep mud his mind trudged through as it processed the sounds slurred the mentions of his name to a crawl.

"STAN!" Emily shouted.

"Ahhh!" Stan woke with a deep snort through his large nostrils as his torso bolted upright. He felt like he was blind. The whole room looked blurry and unfocused as he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"Urghhh...what time is it?" He asked, his voice felt coarse and his throat tight. He was almost starting to feel how his whole body ached.

"Time to get up," Emily said flatly from the doorway before disappearing down the hallway with an unfamiliar hard tapping noise accompanying her.

Stan could feel himself beginning to catch up to real-time. Fragments, bits, and pieces of the night before streamed into his awareness. He scooted to the edge of the bed and put his legs over so that his feet touched the floor. He had to look twice as he couldn't feel the floor beneath him at all. His toes had compressed together and were near-immobile as he tried to wiggle them to return sensation.

He couldn't help but look at himself, his cock hung limply atop his large balls. He could feel, without touching it that it hurt. Almost everything hurt. Wincing he tried to get up before collapsing back onto the bed. His legs felt too unsteady and his feet too numb to right himself so easily. Large patches of his pale skin felt like it was covered in constricting jagged plastic. He rubbed his inner thighs to try to alleviate the agitation that covered them. He gasped as soon as his fingers touched his skin.

The rough texture cracked and under his fingers. He looked down to realize that it was dried cum. His crotch was saturated in it. Some larger globs that had weaved themselves into his thin pubic hair were still glistening with wetness but the majority had caked onto him and dried there.

"Oh...oh no..." Stan moaned as he tried to rub the flaking glue-like film that had dried over his irritated skin. He accidentally grazed his flaccid length which caused him to wince. But instead of pleasure, he felt a dull pain course through him. He muffled a cry as the over-taxed nerves of his sensitive flesh rebuffed him. He was partially relieved that the touch hadn't triggered another episode like the shower or...last night.

As he methodically rubbed and peeled the dried cum from his body he tried to put the pieces of the preceding night together. The more he tried to remember the more he could only piece together the feelings of his cock sinking deep into Emily. He remembered moans and thrusting... and sounds. Sounds that no human could make. He had never felt so out of control with his wife before. More memories of feeling so strongly that he needed to sink himself into her. It felt like it was his only prerogative. The feelings felt distant and alien to him now in the surprisingly-bright light of day, like they belonged to somebody...something else. It didn't feel like any of that could be him, but he knew it was.

Finally clearing enough of the cum off of himself he attempted to stand again. On wobbly legs he staggered forward, his hand used the wall for support and guidance as he took a step and then another. He felt like he was playing "the floor is a Dalton sewage pit" like he did with his kids when they were younger as he used every hand-hold he could reach to push himself towards the bedroom door. Every muscle, every bone hurt. He powered through the pain as best he could. He had to stop several times to catch his breath and let the hurt subside enough for him to continue. He glanced at the pile of clothes he had pulled out the previous day that was still strewn across the entrance to their small closet. He didn't think he could reach them in his current state. If he leaned down he feared he may never stand up again.

"Emily...are the kids...still here?" He shouted, his voice cracking and catching in his throat as he made it to the doorway. He hoped they had all gone. He didn't know how he was going to get dressed in his current state. Seeing their bedroom door was open he assumed that Emily had left it that way without fear that one of their children would stumble in on him.

"No...they left," Emily replied dryly after a pause. Stan knew something was wrong by the tone in her voice. He heard the tapping noise again, it was coming from the other side of the house. He took a deep breath and staggered into the hallway. He had to keep looking down to make sure his feet were doing what he was telling them to. All the feeling in his toes was gone, probably for good. He felt exposed hefting himself through the hallway entirely naked, wads of cum still sticking to him. But he didn't know what else to do. His large balls jostled uncomfortably between his legs as his thighs pressed against their flesh. He didn't dare adjust them. His whole body felt so heavy on his bones. Stan willed himself to take each step forward. He wanted to shower but there was no way he was going to overextend their credit any further on his behalf.

He passed by his children's rooms, their bunk beds were in rushed disarray far beyond normal. Even Lilly's normally well-made bed looked like she kicked off the sheets and just...left. He felt a terrible sinking feeling in his gut as he proceeded onward.

Emily came into view as he finally exited the hallway. She was wearing a long stained dress. She was busy dry-scraping breakfast plates into the recycler so that it could cobble-together new food cubes from the accumulated crumbs of their waste. He wanted to apologize to her again for whatever he did the night before. He knew he had lost control. He felt so stupid, so weak. He opened his mouth to speak but his eyes went wide as he took in the situation.

"Are you injured Em? What's wrong?!" He fell forward as he stumbled across the room before catching himself on the edge of the dinner table. Emily was sporting a rusty metal crutch under her right armpit as she navigated the kitchen.

"It's nothing..." Emily looked away. Stan could tell she was trying to shield him from something. He didn't want to think it but it could have been something he had done. He felt a growing and deep-seated anxiety that he couldn't shake.

"Em, please...did you fall? Was it the G-streeters?" He asked rapidly, trying to find a reason for why she needed the apparatus. He wanted any reason but the one that clawed at his heart.

"Y..yeah...the g-streeters, you know how they are," she said as she looked back at him sadly. Stan knew she was lying and he could see it in her eyes that she knew that he knew. The truth of whatever he had done was too painful for either of them to confront or admit out loud.

"I'm so sorry, I can't...I can't protect you," Stan felt his face redden as his eyes began to tear up. He wanted so desperately to hug his wife but his death-grip on the table was all that was keeping him upright. He couldn't risk falling into Emily in her current state.

"It's...it's ok, you don't have to do any more than you already are...I-" Emily cut off as she looked away, wiping tears from her own eyes with her sleeve.

"I put out your food and the pills," she gestured with her head towards the table. Stan hadn't noticed the three canisters lined up neatly along with two of the red pills sitting on top of the middle canister. Each one read "STAGE 2 - 23.5 KCAL" in bold letters just as the first.

"I read the directions they said you are already at stage two. You have to..." she trailed off. They both remembered what had happened last time. Stan felt a stabbing ache all over his already sore body at the remembrance of the pain. The smell of the food felt like it was still saturating his nose. He couldn't help but wretch at the memory, his face twisting into a grimace. Stan's stomach churned at the thought of eating more of the brown goo. Stan wanted to throw it all into the garbage. Acting on Ethan's idea and running as far as they could. But it was an impossible dream now that he was on this road. He knew that.

"Should I...take them later? I can wait," He offered as he picked up the two small red pills in his hand. He looked at his wife expectantly, hoping she would give him an out.

"We have two weeks before the camp..." Emily said as tears welled in her eyes.

"Take them, I know it's for us, no matter what happens. We can get through anything," she assured him, parroting back his own words from the previous day. She selected one of the upturned cups she had scrubbed and unscrewed a small plastic container of what looked like filtered water. He couldn't quite make it out from across the kitchen. She poured half of it in the cup and hobbled over to the table and set it in front of him.

"Here, it will make it easier," she smiled faintly, putting on a brave face. Stan winced, he felt her pain like it was his. Even after everything she still wanted to help him. He couldn't bear to see his wife like this.

"Thanks honey," he said as he picked the cup up. He wanted to tell her that they shouldn't waste good water on him. But he didn't want to cheapen her gesture.

Stan couldn't help but flinch at the thought of what the pills may do as he placed the two capsules in his mouth and sipped from the cup. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable now. He sloshed the mixture around in his mouth momentarily before trying to swallow. His throat felt like it had closed up. He couldn't get them down. He tried again. The water was quickly polluted by the bitter coating of the pills as Stan tilted his head quickly backward. He couldn't hold his breath much longer. He closed his eyes as he sloshed the contents of his mouth around again. With a pronounced and forceful gulp, he managed to get the pills down. He could feel the small oblong capsules traveling down his throat, threatening to lodge themselves along its length until they thankfully disappeared into his stomach.

Using the rest of the water to wash his tongue of the bitter taste of the pills he placed the cup on the table. The clear water tasted sweeter than he remembered. His stomach tensed like a fist at the sudden ingress of the liquid. He rubbed his abdomen as he felt the empty organ suddenly awaken. The churning he had felt before in his gut wasn't pain...it was hunger. He could feel himself grow desperately, insatiably hungry as his stomach came alive and began to gurgle.

"Oh...hrrhnn..." He groaned as he felt his abdomen buckle. He sucked in his already sunken stomach to try to alleviate the discomfort but it was no use.

"Is it happening already?" Emily asked with concern as Stan's fingers gripped the edge of the table. She took a step back away from him. He could see how fearful she was of him now. That hurt more than the pain lancing through his belly.

"No...no, it's my stomach...I'm just hungry Em," Stan gasped out. He was under-exaggerating by a mile. He was so hungry he felt sick. He had to sit down. Hastily finding a close-by chair he collapsed onto the rickety piece of furniture. His balls slapped the rough edge of the seat sending a shiver down his spine. He ignored it as best he could. The hunger was more pressing. Stan pulled the closest of the cans quickly towards him. Before he could crack open the lid Emily stopped him.

"Wait, I don't know if you should. The instructions said to let the pills act first," Emily said with deep concern in her voice as she set her hand on his bare shoulder. Stan looked up at her, his face scrunched in need.

"It hurts Em, I'm scared," he admitted, barely able to stop himself from ripping open the top of the canister that was so close he could almost taste it. Stan shook his head. He didn't know where these thoughts or desires were coming from. This food wasn't good, it was disgusting. None of this was him. It wasn't. With clammy hands, he released his grip on the canister and squeezed Emily's hand on his shoulder.

"They said they could void your contract if you didn't follow the instructions," Emily cautioned. "We can't risk anything, we can't risk anything," she repeated for emphasis.

"I'm scared Em, you have no idea how much I want to...to eat this," he directed his face back towards the canister. It felt like his body was going into withdrawal being this close to it and not consuming it. Despite his disgust at the thought of eating the slurry again, he remembered the sour-sweet acrid smell. The thought of it was making drool form in the corners of his mouth. Sweat pressed out of his forehead, dripping into his eyes. He shuddered as he felt more perspiration coalesce and drip down the length of his bare back. A tendril of drool leaked out of his mouth and settled onto the polished lid of the canister. Stan felt embarrassed as he wiped it away with his free hand and squeezed Emily's hand harder.

"H..how long did they say the pills take?" He said, glancing back towards the heavy cylinders of goo despite himself. He wasn't looking forward to the effects of the pills but the gnawing, desperate hunger for the canisters made him want to speed it up. Before Emily could answer Stan felt like somebody had punched him in the chest, forcing him to double over in the chair.

"urrrhh....hrrnngghh!!!" Stan cried out as he rocked the chair's rickety cheap frame. His bare ass cheeks pressed hard into the depressed seat.

"Oh god, Stan. Hold on, honey. Just hold on...it will be over soon," Emily said in a barely-contained panic. Her hand desperately tried to maintain its grip on his shoulder but his convulsions were too powerful. Stan's mouth went agape, his arms wrapped around his sides to try to stabilize himself.

Retreating, Emily hobbled over to the sink to find something to help him. Dishes and drawers clanged and crashed as she furiously dug through cabinets. Stan felt his whole body convulse painfully again. The already worn muscles in his chest were stretching and snapping back over and over.

"It hurts! EMILY!!! AHH!!! HRRGHH!!" He groaned with increasing urgency. Spittle sprayed from his mouth. His neck tensed hard as its tendons tightened like wire. He could feel the muscles thickening against his esophagus constricting his breathing. His spine pressed against the sweaty skin of his back as it audibly crunched and cracked. Bone ground on bone. It felt like his backbone was trying to dislodge itself from his body, its length shuddered between his shoulder blades. His head was being pushed higher off his shoulders by the thickening column of bone and muscle below it.

"My grrnnghhh back!!! My back it hurtsss....hugh...huhhh!!!" He screamed as the vertebrae at the base of his spinal column pushed against the area atop of his ass cheeks. Stan's hands uselessly scraped at the ridges of his vertebrae. His arms couldn't angle themselves properly to get to them in his distress.

Stan's arms were forced to give up as his back suddenly was forced into a dramatic backward arch with audible *crunch*. His breath had left him as excruciating pain lanced through every bone in his body. Even though the pain he could feel the extrusion of his spine as it pushed out of him, taking his flesh with it. It was small, barely an inch or two long but he could the freshly-created nub pushing into the closed back of the chair. His back wasn't all that was changing. He could feel his insides moving, shifting, subtly but excruciatingly as his back finally released him. His body collapsed forward, his head almost slamming against the table before he was able to catch himself and loll backward in a pained stupor.

Emily hobbled back over to him as quickly as she could. She had a handful of painkillers, he recognized them immediately. They were the only regular meds they had access to. She tried to give them to him, to make his hands take them. Emily put her hands around his as she poured them into his shivering palm. He could feel how clammy her hands were. His eyes rolled in their sockets as he tried to focus. She was saying something to him but he couldn't make it out over the throbbing pain coursing through every fried nerve in his body. The pills dropped through his fingers onto the floor. He didn't have the willpower or cognition at the moment to hold them let alone swallow them. Emily was bending down under the table to retrieve them. Stan felt his vision grow blurry as the muscles in his face began to seize up.

"HURRRHH!!!" he groaned as his face began to press outward. His voice undulated and vibrated through his rapidly rising and falling chest. The extending, snapping bones in his face temporarily cut off the airways to his flared, madly-huffing nostrils. Stan felt like he was being choked as he desperately tried to make up for their loss with heavy rapid breaths through his elongating mouth. The bridge of his nose was widening as it plowed its way from between his eyes to the top of his gasping mouth.

"Uuhhhhh...MY FACETTHHH!!!" He groaned through his extending visage. He could see his nose extending further and further away from his eyes. His body convulsed again, his chest heaving outward before collapsing inward. His skull ached. It felt like the bone around his brain had grown too small for the organ as the pressure in his head became immense.

He didn't want Emily to see him like this. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't stop any of it. But as he thought of his kind, loving wife his thoughts of Emily began to distort and twist, even corrupting his embarrassment into something...carnal. He tried to fight it but the pounding in his head was too much to bear as he tried to steer the thoughts away. He only could think of thrusting into her deep tightness. Despite the roar of pain through his body, he could feel the pounding of hot blood begin pouring into his cock. His penis flopped upward from its resting place draped over his balls as it came quickly to attention. Every inch of his turgid length felt sensitive and painful as it jostled up and down and side to side with every convulsion of his body. He felt a moment of pleasure amidst the suffering as a solitary bead of milky pre-cum pushed out of the swollen mushroom-shaped tip. But it was short-lived as another seizure of his back drove the head of his penis into the underside of the table.

Pain lanced through the length of his still-raw and chafed male hood. His mouth gaped open in pain, unable to even squeak out a groan. The agony caused him to choke on his own rapid and labored breathing. Even missing a single breath caused him to begin to cough violently, inducing internment sprays of spittle from his mouth as he panted urgently for air. Despite the breathing problems caused by his changing neck his hips were compulsively gyrating beneath him. His pelvis dragged his hard eleven-inch length along the underside of the table, leaving a streak of pre-cum in its wake.

The convulsing gyrations of his torso and hips were too much for the old chair to take as it creaked and then collapsed underneath him, sending him splayed across the hard floor. Emily cried out next to him, as surprised by the fall as he was.

For a moment everything slowed down as he lay there on his side. The heavy sudden impact seemed to have dulled all the rest of the pain, if only for a moment. He looked at Emily, crouching under the table, clutching a white pill in her hand. Her eyes were wide with terror as she looked at him. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the pain returned in force. The muscles in his thick neck tensed, forcing his head to whip upward. The excruciation that coursed through his pounding head was back with a vengeance.

His jaw cracked and pushed into the flesh of his face. It felt and sounded like the bones in his extending muzzle were grindstones being used to cut into his skull. His hands clasped his long nose as the airways to his nostrils opened up again, but larger and more cavernous than before. He cried out in pain as two parallel rolls of flat wide teeth pushed through his sensitive elongating gums. Stan clawed at his cheeks as they swelled with pulsing, bunching muscle under his pale skin.

Stan couldn't stop grinding his still-growing teeth against each other. His mouth felt like it was filled with dozens of tooth-aches all at once. Stan's head pounded like somebody was repeatedly hitting his skull with a hammer as every tooth seemed to have a direct wire to his pain receptors. It was all he could do to apply as much pressure as he could to keep from blacking out at the pain. The only reason he hadn't passed out already was how fast his heart was beating in his chest.

Stan hardly noticed his rock-hard penis bobbing madly between his legs until the tip touched the floor. A shock of pleasure intermixed with the pain. Emily. He didn't want...he couldn't remember. The pounding was too strong. Wife. Mate. He wanted his mate. His mind was flooded with unbridled lust. Stan couldn't help but kick his legs against the ground underneath him. His lemon-sized balls squeezed and jostled between his thighs only making him kick harder.

The bones in his feet were cracking and lengthening with every powerful kick. The nails of his numb toes began to turn black as they thickened, pushing out small beads of blood between the root of the nail and the darkening keratin. For every excruciating bone-crunching inch, his feet lengthened his shins were shortening, his calf muscles bunching as they loosened and then grew taught again. His body was thinning, being sucked inward. His ribs pressed painfully into his skin as his chest collapsed becoming gaunt as the changes ate away at his insides for fuel.

"NEEIIGHHH!!!" Stan roared, his head rearing upwards as his back convulsed and his cock smacked the floor at the same time. His hands gripped his long nose like a vice as he ejaculated a small spurt of watery cum from the tip of his tool. He urgently wanted, needed, to release more but his body had no more to give. The pain and pleasure were mixing, becoming something confusing and overwhelming. Stan's hands released his face as they needfully squeezed the base of his cock. His grasping fingers were no help as his sex dryly orgasmed over and over between his legs.

"HRRNNN!!!" He moaned in desire, his ears pinned against the top of his head. He didn't understand where his mate was. His angry swollen length shuddered as his empty balls squeezed ineffectually in their tight sac. Mate. He wanted to breed. No. No, it wasn't right. Self-awareness flooded back in for a moment. She was...his...wife. Small tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he tried to fight through the animal he was becoming.

But as he wrestled for control Stan's hips couldn't stop pushed his length into his grasping hands, causing him to shudder in pleasure. The shocks of desire eroded the single grain of willpower he had summoned. The beast inside him used the opportunity to fight back. Mate. Breed. The need overwhelmed him again and despite the pain, he thrust himself as far outward as his hips would allow to show off his male-hood. Every throbbing spasm of his heavy tool felt rapturous and agonizing as it heaved beneath his fingers. But he hardly cared that he was unable to lubricate its long urethra with even another drop of cum. The lust felt all-consuming. After what felt like an eternity Stan felt the waves of his climax gently ebb. His excruciating changes had stopped somewhere among the seemingly endless and excruciating orgasm.

Rolling onto his back Sam spread his legs apart and lay there, staring up at the ceiling from the kitchen floor breathing hard through his mouth. His wide nostrils took up breathing duty every time the feeling of air hurt his newly developed teeth. The pain of his dehydrated and emaciated body pushed the lust down until it was barely a whisper in the back of his mind. His agitated and still subtly heaving cock arched against his stomach as his balls nestled between his legs. His head was pounding and his still lightly-spasming back felt like it had been broken in several places.

"Stan, are you...you?" Emily asked with trepidation somewhere above him, out of his vision.

Stan blinked, the throbbing in his head was starting to subside. His still-pinned ears popped upward to triangulate where Emily was speaking from. He dared not move a single muscle as he lay there, fully exposed on the kitchen floor. Stan swallowed dryly as he tried to clear his throat. It still felt like it was obstructed by whatever had happened to his neck.

"Y..yeah...I think so," Stan groan-whispered. He didn't know if he even believed that. It felt like something more fundamental, more terrifying than his body was changing. He let out a small cough, causing his chest to spasm enough to send shocks of pain throughout the charred-remains of his nerves.

"I don't think we will be dancing anytime soon," he managed to wheeze out accompanied by a forced-chuckle. He tried to crack a smile but even that hurt. His lungs burned and his throat was parched, even now it felt like somebody had their hands around his neck. He didn't want Emily to worry, he was sure it was all part of the process. He had to trust Inglestoff knew what they were doing. Despite the assurances of the rational part of his mind, he felt like he was fading laying on the floor spread eagle as he was.

"Oh god Stan, don't laugh, you are hurting yourself," Emily said with deep concern in her voice, not indulging in the joke. Figuring out where Emily was talking to him from Stan craned his head all the way backwards with a pained grunt. His head felt uncharacteristically heavy as it tilted upside-down, flipping the room. It was making him more than a little nauseous. The floor was the ceiling and the ceiling was the floor. To add to his discomfort he noticed the long bridge of his nose that dominated the lower half of his vision. He winced his eyes closed for a moment to rebalance himself. When he opened them again he saw that Emily was standing above him, clutching one of the canisters against her chest. The rusty metal crutch had fallen to the floor near her feet.

"This isn't right, none of this is right," she cried, her eyes transfixed on him.

"I know it's hard but-" Stan tried to interject.

"Stan, you look like you're...like you're dying," she sputtered out. They had all seen enough death in their lives to know what it looked like. He didn't question that but the pain had subsided to a dull thrum if he didn't move. He didn't know how anything could be more wrong than what he had just been through, and he survived that.

"Wait, slow down," Stan tried to calm her. His gaunt arms rose before collapsing back down to his sides, too weak and painful to hold themselves aloft.

"You're starving...I...you need to eat. You need to eat this right now," she sobbed as she hugged the can even tighter, fumbling with the lid.

"No, no it's ok, I'm...I'm not even hungry anymore," Stan tried to assure her, his voice no more than a whisper. It was the truth, he didn't feel any of the hunger pains he had experienced earlier. Almost all the pain had gone away. It was over. He could rest.

"Please honey, if you could see yourself-" she was cut off as she suppressed a sudden and silent wretch. She had opened the canister and almost doubled over. Stan didn't know what the fuss was about. He just needed rest was all. He felt so tired. His eyes were growing heavier by the moment.

"Don't go to sleep Stan! Hold on, just hold on," Emily said in a panic as she caught her breath and hobbled quickly over to him. Kneeling in front of his face with a pained groan she set the canister next to his head. Stan found it odd that he couldn't smell the contents despite his wife's reaction.

"Don't worry, I'm fine...." Stan began to nod off, the darkness felt welcoming, a sanctuary from the pain that still buzzed through his body.

Stan's eyes grew fuzzy and unfocused as he felt small hands repositioning his head upwards so that his nose faced the ceiling.

"Emily...I'm fine...fine..." he weakly choked out. His ears were ringing, louder and louder with no distinct noise to cause it.

Stan felt Emily's hands pry open his deep mouth moments before a huge dollop of creamy goo forced its way between his front teeth. He was too weak to resist as it slimed its way down his long tongue to the back of his throat. It was all he could do to swallow as it forced its way slowly down his constricted esophagus. As he wheezed in a goo-tinged breath he felt another dollop of the goo worm its way down his throat. The cycle continued over and over. He was fading in and out of consciousness like he had that morning as the goo began to coat his esophagus.

The tensed neck muscles supporting his head upright gave way suddenly. He could feel hands against his swollen cheek trying to push his heavy head back up but it was no use. Stan's head collapsed sideways with a thud. His limp tongue rolled out of his mouth, saturated in the brown sludge. His breathing was shallow and non-uniform. His eyes rolled towards the back of his skull in their sockets. Even his drool was saturated with the goo as it leaked out of the corner of his listing mouth. Through the buzzing noise in his ears, he could hear crying. He could feel somebody cradling him. His last coherent thought before the darkness took him was "Emily".